


Letters to Stanford

by Twinkaleckis (twinkaleckis)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Pre!Stanford era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkaleckis/pseuds/Twinkaleckis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Write a 500-1000 word essay on anything you want."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters to Stanford

"Write a 500-1000 word essay on anything you want."

Sam sat at the large Dell monitor for so much time, just staring at a blank screen, thinking about what he could possibly write. His fingers carding through his hair anxiously. He knew exactly what he was going to write about, but shit, the words just wouldn't come out. He had thought about so many topics to write about, the vengeful spirit in Georgia that he, his father, and his brother hunted when he was sixteen and how it had been his first hunt, the teacher he had that told him to do what he wanted, fucking Ghandi, anything. But the more he thought about it, he knew what really deserved to be written about. Dean. He was the only thing in the world that deserved to really get written about. He was the only thing on Sam's mind most of these days.

"A single human being can only do so many things simply because we have our limits. Physically, mentally, emotionally, etc. But there is one person in my life that really has had no limits. He has done so much to shape me into the person I am now and he's been my hero since I was about four. His name is Dean and he's my brother.  
Our mother died in a house fire when he was four and when I was six months old. Our father was absolutely devastated, but ever since I can remember, Dean was always telling him that everything would be okay. We traveled constantly, not staying in one place for over five months. My brother and I were trained from the time we were children to fight and survive by my dad and when he was away for work, Dean would take care of me.   
Dean was my parent more throughout my life more than my dad had ever been. Dean was the one that made me Spaghettios when I was five, he was the one that went grocery shopping and bought birthday presents. He was the one that took care of our dad and made sure he was in bed, then alive the next morning when dad had too much to drink. I remember this one year, it was Christmas and our dad was out for the week working, and Dean told me every single day before that that our dad would be home in time. He lied to me on Christmas morning when there were a couple of packages neatly wrapped on the floor, saying that dad got home late and had to leave again. When I opened the first gift, it was a Barbie doll that he had stolen from one of the neighbors down the street.   
Dean was always bending over backwards, making sure that I was happy with my life, that he never had time to be happy with his own life. Sure, he's happy after spending the night with a random girl and content after a few beers, but I know what he really wants. He wants a normal life.  
He's been saving up money that he has earned as a mechanic for the past few months, saying it was for the bar and for fixing up our Impala, but I think I know what he's been saving up for. He's been working close to sixty hours each week, getting less than minimum wage to send me to school. He will do anything for me to have a normal life, but he won't tell dad that he wants that for himself too because if dad doesn't want him to do it, then he won't. Dean is the greatest human being and the only one in the world that doesn't see it is him. That's why he is the person that inspires me the most; he always gives to others, reassuring them that everything's okay, but he never takes. All I want to do is make him proud."

One he finished typing the last word, he let out a breath of air he didn't realize he had been holding for the past-God knows how long-and cracked his knuckles, earning a glare from the librarian. Sam knew that there was so much more to Dean than he could possibly type. He could write about the look of bliss on his face after his first sip of coffee or the noise he makes when Sam says that Dean should go on a run with him. God, Sam could write the man's whole biography, but he could only write less than one thousand words. If Sam had written anything else about how much he loved Dean, he knew that he would get immediately rejected and thrown into a mad house. And he knew that he would never let Dean see this letter to Stanford.

He just hoped it was enough to make Dean proud.


End file.
